Sometimes the Lies We Tell Ourselves
by IllustratedGirl
Summary: Are More Important Than the Truths We Tell Other People. Harvey and Mike's work relationship is complicated. And when Mike learns something he swore he should've known, things get a little topsy-turvy. Slight AU, probably a little cracky, Pre-slash to Slash. Better summary when I can think of one! T for language, higher ratings for later chapters and more interesting content.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note That is Actually Kind of Important, Please Read it!_

Hello! It has been a long, long time since I wrote any fanfic. Like, we're talking back when Quizilla was blue links on a white background and Harry Potter ruled the fic universe (Not that it doesn't now, but I'm like, so totally over it.) With that in mind, please bear with me if my tags aren't right, or my coding is wrong, or if sometimes things get a little cracky. I'm not gonna lie, guys, I just started writing this without any plan at all in mind. I am pretty sure that it'll eventually be slash? Because... come on. Really all I wanted to say is the that Suits fandom is pretty awesome, and it's the first one in five or six years that actually inspired me to write something, so. Thanks guys! I really hope you like it. Your concrit is welcome, of course, especially if anything gets OOC.

Oh! Also there's a slight AU here.

* * *

As the glass door of Harvey's office shut behind him with a soft shush, Mike felt the triumphant look fall from his face. Harvey gazed at him, the muscles in his right eyelid twitching and giving away his annoyance.

"What are you still doing here?"

Mike paused, nonplussed.

"It's," the associate glanced at his watch, "2:15 on a Friday, Harvey, where else would I be?" Mike asked. Harvey made a noise that, for a lesser man, would've been called a huff.

"You're supposed to be at Rene's in twenty minutes to have the final adjustments made and pick up your suit. Of course, with cross-town traffic, you will never manage that now," Harvey pressed a button on his phone, "Donna?"

"Yes?" came the tinny reply.

"Call Rene, have him push back Mike's appointment a half an hour and then call Ray, tell him I need him down here ten minutes ago."

"Yes, sir." Donna almost never called Harvey "sir." Only when she could tell he was really, really pissed off.

"Thanks, Harvey, but, um, why am I getting a new suit?" Mike tried hard not to fidget. He was suddenly on the receiving end of a look that he had thought Harvey reserved for only particularly irksome opposing counsel. The "tell me why I bother wasting my time talking to you" look.

"July 7, 2012, Michael, why don't you tell me?"

Mike swallowed- Harvey _never_ called him Michael, and then blinked. That date popped to the forefront of his mind, printed on Pearson-Hardman letterhead, some memo about a party...

Mike swallowed again, a new anxiety twisting in the bottom of his stomach.

"The associates dinner," he breathed.

"Glad you're up to speed. Meet Ray downstairs, get your suit, and be on time for the party. Not fashionably late on time, not an hour early because you want to impress me time, _on time._" There was a hard edge to Harvey's voice that made Mike's heart drop slightly.

He decided not to waste anymore time by answering and turned to leave the office.

"Mike." Harvey's tone was one of pure exasperation. Mike froze.

"The Technicron files?" Harvey was forced to prompt him, his voice managing to become even drier.

"Oh, right," Mike swung back around and dropped the folders on Harvey's desk, "I found a clause in the bylaws that-"

"I'm sure your notes are detailed enough that even a poor schmuck like me could figure it out," Harvey interrupted, flipping the manila folder open, "Go."

Mike went.

* * *

The suit fit perfectly, of course, but Mike wasn't comfortable. The Pearson-Hardman annual associates' dinner was a pompous affair where every lawyer in the firm took the opportunity to grill any associate they hadn't already assigned a mountain of paperwork to. It seemed to Mike as he nabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a cater waiter that _everybody_ wanted to shoot questions at Harvey Specter's new "wonderboy." He'd had barely thirty seconds since walking into the place (five minutes late, naturally) to wonder why the hell Harvey was so damn late.

The answer was obvious to Mike when she walked in the door ten minutes later on Harvey's arm. New York's best closer made the rounds, smiling and shaking hands and... apparently not having to introduce the woman to everyone. Jessica hugged her. At the sight of her, Donna made a noise that could almost be called a squeal and nearly tackled her. Very un-delicate. Very un-Donna. Mike was so confused he took him a moment to register that Harvey had walked up to join him, the brunette still chatting animatedly with Donna.

"Nice suit," one corner of Harvey's mouth quirked upwards.

"Thanks. Nice date," Mike nodded towards her.

"Angelique," Harvey informed him without being prompted. Mike snorted, cutting off whatever Harvey was going to continue with. The older man glared at him and went on, "My wife."

There was a distinct buzzing in Mike's ears as he felt his jaw go slack. He swallowed.

"What?"

"My wife," Harvey repeated, clearly amused, "Didn't you know?" he asked innocently.

"Uh, no, Harvey, I didn't know. In fact I distinctly remember making cracks about you being old and alone over the whole Rachel thing not all that long ago. You didn't say anything. You've never said anything, nobody ever said anything." There was an edge to Mike's voice, maybe a strain? He wasn't sure, but he cleared his throat nonetheless, "You don't wear a wedding band."

Harvey shrugged, "She doesn't either. We're not showy."

Mike fought the urge to roll his eyes, and failed. "Harvey, you're the showiest man alive. 'I like this.' Remember?" He held a hand up slightly above his head. Harvey chose to ignore the comment and sipped his drink.

"You spend an awful lot of time at the office for a happily married man." Mike wasn't even sure what that meant, but he said it anyway.

"Angelique spends an awful lot of time on photo shoots and movie sets."

Angelique Specter's face in the background of a poster decorating the bus stop a block from his apartment rose behind Mike's eyes.

"How did I not know you were married to somebody at least a little bit famous?" Mike queried, although the question was more for himself.

"I don't know. You've never Googled me, apparently." Harvey's shoulders rose and fell, but the movement could not _really_ be called a shrug.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've been so busy since I started this job that I barely have time to eat, sleep, and shower let alone spend time gratuitously web stalking my boss," Mike shot back, though he couldn't fathom why he was annoyed. Harvey kept him out of the loop on unessential things all the time. His marital status had no bearing whatsoever on their working relationship.

"Well, now you know. C'mon," Harvey clearly couldn't have missed Mike's tone, but he still seemed rather entertained. He gripped Mike's elbow and dragged him away from the deserted corner where they had been standing.

"Angie," Harvey interrupted her conversation with a quick smirk at Donna and practically shoved Mike in front of his wife as she turned, "Mike Ross."

"Ah," she had a light French accent and Mike choked back a laugh, because, _of course_, "the infamous Mike Ross."

She held out a hand and Mike shook it.

"Pleasure to meet you," he forced out.

"And you as well. It's nice to properly meet the associate that's been driving my husband to distraction for months. Not to mention showing up unbidden at our apartment." Her eyebrow lifted in a manner that was so distinctly _Harvey_ that Mike wanted to vomit. It occurred to him suddenly that Harvey's apartment, all clean lines and neutrals and leather that screamed Bachelor Pad with every fiber of its existence was her home as well. He did a mental scan. There were no photos of her, of them, anywhere in the living room.

"It's weird to find out Harvey's married." Mike knew immediately from the flick to his ear that he shouldn't have said it, but he kept going anyway, "If I didn't know any better I'd say this is all just one of his many, many schemes to mess with me."

"He's not subtle," Angelique directed her comment at Harvey, who loosed an all-suffering sigh.

"I know. And don't flatter _yourself_ Michael, I don't 'scheme' to mess with you. Things just tend to work out that way more often than not," Harvey replied, the corners of his lips twitching.

Mike blanched. He hated it when Harvey called him Michael.

"The lovely Angelique Specter!" He was saved any further embarrassment as Louis oozed his way over to kiss Angelique's hand.

"Louis," she smiled endearingly at him, but the sentiment did not reach her eyes. Louis didn't notice, and almost immediately launched into a game of twenty questions about the set of her movie.

A sudden, gut-wrenching fear washed over Mike as a new terrifying probability arose. Harvey recognized the look instantly and shook his head. Mike could breathe again. She didn't know. At that, a slow smile crept over his face. Harvey cocked his head to one side and looked him questioningly, still standing with one arm around Angelique's waist as Louis prattled on. Mike shook his head, mouthing "Later."

"I hate for this to be a meet and greet," Mike interrupted Louis without an apology, "But Ms. Pearson beckons, "It was lovely to meet you, Angelique." Mike nodded sharply, once, before turning away from the group.


	2. Chapter 2

Clearly, I don't own _Suits_, but thanks USA!

* * *

It was the party that would not end. Every time Mike turned around, there was someone new standing there, waiting to ambush him with a question or a too-firm handshake. Somewhere around midnight Mike, quite literally, bumped into Harvey in his haste to escape a Junior Partner who'd overindulged in several things that night, including garlic and scotch.

"Easy, rook," Harvey nudged him back with a steadying hand on his chest. Angelique chuckled.

"Sorry, I just," A sigh whooshed out of Mike's lungs, "Yikes."

Harvey's eyes flicked to who Mike was talking to and he nodded, "Yeah."

"I'm glad you've popped up again, Mike," Angelique's teeth were small, even, and blindingly white, "I wanted to say goodnight before I duck out of this nightmare."

"I don't blame you a bit," Mike smiled back, "I'd go too, but-"

"But you absolutely can't for at least another hour," Harvey finished for him before half turning to kiss Angelique on the cheek.

"Have Ray take you, I'll call a cab," he murmured in her ear, light pressure on the small of her back propelling her forward a half step. She went, but not without another glance at Mike, "Make sure Harvey get's home safely."

Mike scoffed when she was safely out of earshot.

"What's funny, Mikey?" Mike had forgotten what too much champagne sometimes did to Harvey. Harvey had apparently forgotten too, a half empty flute in his hand.

"Wha-? Nothing," Mike shook his head, plastering a wide grin on his face, "You're _married._" Maybe champagne wasn't good to Mike either.

"Yes." Harvey moved on quickly "If nothing's funny now, what was so funny earlier you lied about Jessica needing you so you could run off to a corner and giggle like a school girl?"

"Oh," Mike barked out, chuckling again, "Just that you're lying to your wife about me. I'm your dirty little secret." Mike couldn't help himself, he giggled. Harvey almost winced, Mike was so goddamn undignified.

For a long moment, Harvey just looked at him. The smug, amused look he'd worn all evening had vanished, along with any trace of champagne-fueled camaraderie.

"I'm lying to _everyone_ about you. For you. So are Donna and Jessica. Don't forget it." Harvey held his gaze a moment longer to make sure his words landed before he turned on his heel and walked away.

"Shit." Mike glanced at his watch and, though it was nowhere near one a.m., headed for the door.

* * *

Work on Monday was unpleasant. Before even dropping his messenger bag off at his cubicle, Mike stopped by Donna's desk to drop off the extra coffee he'd picked up that morning.

"What is this going to cost me?" She would never admit it to him, but she had been running ever-so-slightly behind that morning and was desperately in need of a caffeine boost.

"How pissed off is Harvey?" Mike didn't have the will to beat around the bush. Donna's lips curved in an almost predatory grin.

"On a scale of _Muppet Treasure Island_ to _Apocalypse Now_, he's about a _Patton,_" she replied, taking a delicate sip of her newly brokered coffee.

"Great." Mike sighed and glanced up to see the back of Harvey's head through the glass wall of the office as the lawyer sat facing the skyline in his thousand dollar ergonomic chair, phone to his ear. Donna's face grew slightly more somber.

"He doesn't like it when people make cracks about his wife, Mike. He doesn't like it when people make cracks about anything he sees as belonging to him," Donna glanced at him meaningfully, "You of all people should know that."

Mike opened his mouth to argue, but the memory of Donna standing in the middle of Harvey's office, demanding to know just what Mike thought of the décor cut him off.

"Go back to your desk, you're distracting me." Donna's curt order brought Mike back to the present and he shuffled off to his cubicle.

He found Louis waiting for him, and forced a tight smile.

"What can I do for you?" Mike asked in what he sincerely hoped was a carefree tone as he deposited his messenger bag under his desk.

"Are you working on anything for Harvey right now?" Louis' amiable question in return almost made Mike jump.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked stupidly. Louis smirked, something about the twist of his lips saying "I know something you don't know."

Mike didn't care for it.

"No, I'm not working on anything for Harvey," Mike finally caved when Louis just continued to stare at him, an almost pleased look in his eyes.

"Good. I need you to do some research into Ian Williamson. He's the CFO of-"

"The charitable organization Project Earth. The President and Founder Gabriel Hallowell thinks he's embezzling funds and wants us to find out whether or not it's true. Quietly," Mike interrupted, rather enjoying the huffy look that passed over Louis' face, "I know. Harvey asked me to get familiar with all the information we have on the charity last week."

"Excellent," The superior, all-knowing expression had resettled itself on Louis' features, "If you're already familiar with the information we have, go find something new."

With that, Louis was gone. Unfortunately for Mike, the air of discomfort the Junior Partner brought with him didn't dissipate. Sighing, he set to work on getting a hold of a copy of all Project Earth's financial records from five years before Ian Williamson had been hired, right up until the present day. Without, of course, alerting the Chief Financial Officer or anybody in the financial office at all, for that matter.

Mike made a sad, sick sound that was not laugher, realizing what else he would have to obtain and comb through. Williamson's personal financials.

Joy.

* * *

As soon as Harvey hung up the phone, Donna's brisk voice sounded over the intercom.

"How long are you going to let the kid mope? I'd like to know if I'll need to pencil in another impromptu therapy session for him before this has blown over."

"Donna," Harvey was not in the mood. Barely 8 a.m. and it was already a crap morning.

"No, seriously-" She began again.

"No," Harvey barked, "Seriously."

Donna spun around in her chair, an appalled look on her face. Harvey didn't flinch.

"I need you to clear Friday, book me a ticket on the Friday morning redeye out of JFK to LAX, return flight Sunday morning, and then deflect anything that might pop up while I'm gone. Can you handle that?"

Harvey knew the question was condescending, and that he would pay for it later, but the conversation he'd just had with Angelique's _publicist_ had put him in a truly foul mood.

A _publicist_, of all things, at 7:30 a.m. on a Monday telling him that, "Well of course you'll have to attend the premier, Harvey. I mean, hello, even Perez Hilton, _Montana_'s last source for news, knows that Angelique is married to one of New York's premier attorneys. And being the absolute _slice_ that you are, Harv, people will ask questions if Angie shows up to the biggest premier of her career, thus far of course, without her hubby."

The run on sentences, abbreviations, nicknames. The vein in Harvey's neck pulsed, his left eyebrow twitching of its own accord at just the memory.

A pushy, self-involved little man who was overly interested in Angelique's career for reasons that didn't seem entirely monetary, and made phone business phone calls past 4 a.m. PST from what sounded like the pajama party at the Playboy Mansion was telling Harvey Specter what to do. It was all so disgustingly L.A.

The worst part, though, was that Harvey was doing it.

"Yes, Mr. Specter, I can handle that." Donna's voice was icy and for a moment Harvey felt a small pang for insulting her.

No.

He felt a small pang at the knowledge of what he'd had to do to placate her.

"Thank you, Donna." Harvey allowed just a hint of the bone-deep tired he suddenly felt to slip into his voice. It might even have worked at little, he noted as Donna's shoulders lost just a touch of their tenseness.

He shook the exhausted feeling away and flipped open the same file Mike had given him the Friday afternoon before. A few hours left until the meeting and he still wasn't sure if he was going to allow Mike to attend it, even with the excellent catch he'd made analyzing the bylaws.

Harvey hoped Donna was mad enough at him to have turned off the intercom when he heard himself sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

Cleary, I don't own _Suits_, but thanks USA Network, for not suing the pants off me!

Mike was desperate to get away from the increasingly off-putting life and times of Ian Williamson. He hadn't found anything legally damning, yet, but things were starting to get weird. Like thousands of dollars on anthropomorphic adult sized animal costumes weird. It had been surprisingly easy to get Williamson's accountant to hand over an incredibly detailed list of tax returns, receipts, and a well diversified stock portfolio. Mike guessed it had a little something to do with Ian making the man's skin crawl.

His words, not Mikes.

When his phone buzzed on the corner of his desk, he practically snatched it.

_Lobby, ten minutes._

Harvey was succinct, and something in the bottom of Mike's stomach gave a small twist. He was clearly being allowed to go to the client meeting, so perhaps Harvey had fallen to _A Few Good Men_ levels of anger. Mike could handle the threat of a court martial.

Still, he felt unsettled as he packed his bag and moved away from his desk.

"Where are you going?" Louis was hovering over Harold, criticizing something trivial when his eyes flicked up to Mike.

"Client meeting with Harvey. Don't worry, I'll finish your busywork," Mike assured him without breaking his stride.

Harvey barely glanced up from his phone when Mike met him in the lobby.

"Ready?" he asked dryly, his eyes lingering on Mike's hair and what Harvey _knew_ could not be a coffee stain on Mike's tie.

Mike wanted to roll his eyes, but instead focused on identifying Harvey's smirk from his own personal "Pick a Mood" chart.

Mildly exasperated, perhaps peeved, but with underlying amusement.

"Ready."

Ray was waiting for them at the curb, and they didn't speak until the town car was pulling smoothly into traffic.

"We're going to have to keep the meeting short. I've had to shuffle some things, and if we can't get this wrapped up by 2, I'll have Donna reschedule something for Friday. You'll handle it." Harvey imparted all of this information nonchalantly, still absorbed in his phone.

"Shuffle some- I'll handle it? Harvey we're trying to remove the President and CEO of one of Pearson-Hardman's biggest clients! While, you know, keeping under wraps that the guy's been running the company while off his goddamn rocker for the last nine months. You budgeted an _hour?_ Have you lost it completely?" Mike was flabbergasted, but Harvey just quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you finished?" The smirk no longer held any indication of amusement, "I won't be around Friday so Friday's meetings are now every afternoon all week. You keep telling me you're ready for the adult table. Now you might have to prove it."

"Where are you going?" Mike blurted before he could stop himself, though he wisely chose not to push his luck with a retort about the kid's table probably being more fun anyway. Harvey slanted a look at him.

"L.A. for Angie's movie thing," he answered dismissively, accompanied by an impatient flick of his wrist as his phone intoned more messages.

"You're dropping the biggest case we've worked on in months in my lap to go to L.A. for a _movie_ premier?" Mike knew the disgust was evident in his voice, and he didn't care. Harvey Specter didn't leave the firm's reputation, or the law, up to chance to swan around with "celebrities."

"Your lack of specificity astounds. I may not be dropping it on you, in all likelihood I will get it wrapped up today in about fifteen minutes. I just felt I should warn you about your possible impending need for maturity. Though I was clearly wrong to rely on you mustering it. I am your boss, Michael. What I do to support my _family_ is none of your concern," Harvey's voice was dry but venomous. Mike swallowed hard; he had clearly surpassed _Patton_ levels of angry and was headed dangerously close to _Falling Down_ territory.

"I just- it's not you, Harvey. To drop everything like this. I mean, I worked with you for how long without even knowing you were _married_ and then all of a sudden it's 'This is my wife' and 'This is her shiny new movie' and 'This is where I move to L.A. and start wearing linen pants.'" It was a lame apology, but it was the best Mike could do.

It did manage to draw a cynical chuckle out of Harvey.

"Linen pants?"

"Well, you know," Mike shrugged, trying to ignore the nagging fear that had sprung up in the back of his mind. It was plausible, Harvey moving to L.A. Unlikely, Mike hoped, but not impossible.

"I'm not moving to L.A," Harvey seemed to have read his associate's mind, "And part of the reason you didn't know I'm married is because things like this almost never come up. Angie and I are independent people. Stop agonizing over me taking a long weekend and get your head in the game." Harvey's words were clipped, but he'd softened enough to at least give Mike a reassurance.

Mike nodded and spent the rest of the ride looking over paperwork he already knew forwards and backwards.

As it turned out, Harvey did wrap up the dismantling of Technicron's intrinsic power structure to allow the Board of Trustee's handpicked new CEO to step into her new role without so much as a hiccup, but it took him more like forty-five minutes.

In fact, Harvey wrapped up so many meetings and settled so many case that week Mike was left with a feeling vaguely like whiplash. For one mind-numbingly stupid second he felt as though there would be no cases left for Pearson-Hardman to deal with even when Harvey got back. The man had been a whirlwind of briefs, filings, legal sucker punches, and witty retorts for four solid days. Hurricane Harvey. How could there be any law left to practice?

Of course Thursday evening rolled around and Harvey dumped an impressive stack of files on Mike's desk without a word.

"Have fun at the premier!" Mike called after him, hoping he sounded mostly like his smartassed self. He didn't feel that way, but had no time to start thinking about why. Instead he dug into the files Harvey had so graciously given to him.

It was nothing in comparison to the boxes of financial reports he'd received from Planet Earth's CEO under the guise of a cost-cutting initiative he wanted more solid information on before revealing to the charities underlings. Still, it meant Mike would probably still be at his desk on Monday when Harvey would come in pretending not to be cranky from jetlag. Mike would have to fight through a haze of Red Bull fog and sleep deprivation to remember why he didn't want to quit. Something he predicted it might be especially hard to do if he couldn't force the harsh, sneering way Harvey had thrown the word "family" at him out of his head.

Mike knew Harvey wasn't his _dad_ or anything, (Ew.) but he had thought they had settled firmly on something a little more than colleagues. Harvey was his mentor, hadn't the older man said so? And that meant they were supposed to trust each other, but Mike suddenly realized that maybe the "wife" bomb had shaken his trust in Harvey a bit more than he thought. If he was feeling wary of Harvey, then, Mike was certain, Harvey was probably feeling at least a little wary of him. The dirty little secret remark wasn't helping either.

Mike groaned loudly and indulged himself for a moment by allowing his heavy head to bang forward against his desk. He was tired of thinking about it.

Married Harvey.

Married. Harvey.

To a French actress.

A beautiful French actress with a breakout movie role and no ludicrous, entanglement of lies needed to hold Harvey's loyalty.

He groaned again.

Despite it all, from that Thursday night perspective the idea of working in his cubicle all weekend seemed more promising to Mike than sitting around with his laptop, periodically checking gossip sites for photos of the premier.

Besides, he knew Donna would do that for him.

Mike was right. Friday at around 11:30, as he chugged down the end of another can of Red Bull in the conference room, surrounded by files, his phone went off.

He opened an email from Donna to find a web link. Mike followed the link to find a run of about a dozen photos of Angelique, looking spectacular in some formfitting purpley-maroon number with a high slit. She was stunning. Mike was bored. He flicked through pictures until he found what he was looking for.

Harvey and Angelique, his arm looped carelessly around her waist but the stiff, awkward angle of his feet giving away the manufactured pose.

They looked... weird.

Harvey in a black suit, sans waistcoat. Mike blinked at that, did a double take... Had Harvey allowed himself to be, dare Mike say it... styled? There _was_ a pocket square the same color as Angelique's dress involved.

If Harvey ever dared to make another prom joke, Mike would never let him live it down.

Harvey looked like Harvey, certainly, not Prom Date Ken. There was nobody, Mike smiled a little at the thought, that could pull of being any more _Harvey_. He was suave even without the waistcoat. Still, though. There was a level of off-ness that Mike couldn't quite quantify.

_Is it me or do they look funny?_ Mike shot the text off to Donna without thinking about it.

It took a while, and Mike had to ponder if maybe Donna had had a glass or two of wine when she said: _She looks vacant. He looks like he'd rather have his arm around Louis._

Mike didn't bother to stifle his shout of laughter. It ended abruptly on it's own as he pictured Donna's thin, tight smile when the word "Eventually," dropped so heavily from her mouth. It occurred to him that perhaps her affection for Angelique was a little bit of overkill and he felt a stab of sympathy towards Harvey's ever present, seemingly omniscient secretary.

_You're not wrong. And after seeing you at the mock trial, I don't need to see the movie to know you're a better actress. Cuz you're terrifying to watch._

Mike knew it was probably too much. Donna tolerated him, liked him because Harvey liked him, sometimes in spite of herself. She helped him out, usually when it coincided with her devious plots against Louis, but Donna knew his secret. Mike knew she didn't like what Harvey was risking for him.

_Ha._ _Thanks, kid. Good luck with your haystack, I'll see you Monday._

Bullet successfully dodged. Mike cracked another Red Bull.


	4. Chapter 4

Don't own. Am jealous. Don't sue.

_Author's Note: I know this one is kind of short, but I did just put up two in a row (again.) The reasons for this are two-fold: One, I was kind of blown away by the stats for the first two when I checked them again after a few hours. I feel a little like Susan Lucci. (That is a ridiculously old joke. If you don't get it, don't worry. It just means you're still young. And if you do get it, sorry, but you're not that old. I'm only in my 20's.) And two, the third chapter isn't my favorite one ever. It's not bad, but it's not very... interesting. Necessary to move the story along, but not enthralling. Thus, here's four as well, because I think it's so much funnier. But I do love an asshole, so, there's that._

* * *

Harvey seethed silently as what felt like ten million flashbulbs went off in his face. He didn't like it. He didn't like Angie's publicist arranging them as they hit marks taped off every ten feet down the endless press line.

He hadn't liked her stylist practically cackling at his suit before stripping him of his waistcoat and stuffing a poorly folded pocket square into the nook on his chest. He fixed it, of course, but he didn't like having to do it. She had muttered something about "sloppy chic," after seeing him alter it. It was a nearly nonsensical phrase that offended him on a deeply personal level. How could she not understand that without the waistcoat his jacket didn't sit quite properly? Rene would be revolted.

Harvey especially didn't like the stiff way Angie held herself in front of the cameras, almost leaning out against his arm. Not after her manager, publicist, and stylist had spent all morning practically orgasmic over Angie's rave revues in _Variety_. All those people flitting in and out of their hotel suite made him uncomfortable. No, frankly, they made him angry. How could all of these people, assistants and make-up artists and hair stylists and dressers, act like Harvey was a silly child who simply didn't understand Hollywood. He felt... impermanent. Out of place. _Awkward_.

It did not help when the air-headed stylist started sending one lackey after another at him.

Because his hair was so stiff.

And his shoes were definitely not hip.

And, of course Angie is going to be wearing _those_ heels. She should be taller than you, she's the star. You're the arm candy.

And, yes, Harvey, you have to smile for at least some of the photos.

And, the publicist had taken that exact moment to look up from his phone call and shout, "Hey, Harv, what do you think about Angie going back to her maiden name-"

Harvey had shut him up with an absolutely arctic glare, but a few hours later he was still out on the red carpet (which was actually navy blue), his arm around Angie's waist. Or with a hand at her elbow. Or with her hand on his shoulder. Or all of those things all over again with her on his right instead of his left. The whole experience left Harvey feeling uncomfortable in his own skin for the first time in a very, very long time.

* * *

"So," Angelique's voice was tired as she tossed her clutch onto the massive bed in their hotel, "What did you think?"

Harvey was distracted. "Of what?"

He hung his suit jacket carefully and stripped off his trousers to hang it all (waistcoat included) in his garment bag.

"The _movie_, Harvey." Angelique was practically flinging her earrings back into the case Harry Winston had sent the loaners over in.

"It was... good," Harvey moved his shoulders up and down, and this time it really was a shrug. What was he supposed to think? Some Michael Bay-esque action flick with shit writing and Angelique running around in what could only be described as a negligee for nearly three-quarters of her screen time.

"Good," Angelique repeated. Bending over to yank off his socks, Harvey missed the look on her face.

"Yeah, Angie. It was good," Harvey yawned and stretched, still trying to work out the knot the plane flight had left in his back.

"I know you've never taken my career seriously," Angelique began, an unfamiliar crispness to her voice. She was shimmying around, trying to reach the zipper of her dress. She smacked Harvey's hand away when he attempted to help her and went on: "And I doubt you've noticed, but I am the toast of the fucking town right now, Harvey! I _stole_ that fucking movie! I could be at after parties with the Weinsteins and Woody Allen right now, but I came back here because that's what _you_ wanted. And all you have to say is that my movie was _good?_"

Angie gave up on trying to find her zipper, and instead jammed her feet back into her heels.

"I do take your career seriously," Harvey protested, "What are you doing? Angie!"

Harvey was appalled as she yanked the suite door open and marched out into the hall, taking what was apparently their fight with her.

"I'm going to Lyla's room, so she can get me out of this goddamn dress and into something more appropriate for a party. Then I'm going to find Viktor so he can get me the paperwork to change my last name back to Benoit, because it's more marketable, and after all that I'm going to Weinstein party! And you," Angie narrowed her eyes at him and Harvey had _never_ seen her look at anyone with so much contempt, "Are going back to New York."

Before Harvey could reply he had to remind himself that Lyla and Viktor were stylist-idiot and publicist-slimeball, respectively.

"Angie, be reasonable," Harvey struggled to keep his voice even, knowing how ridiculous he looked standing in a hotel hallway in an undershirt and boxers as his gorgeous wife stomped off towards the elevator.

"Maybe you should visit the eleventh floor when you get back to Pearson-Hardman," she shot back at him before the elevator doors dinged shut.

It took Harvey a minute.

The eleventh floor was divorce.

He would've laughed, if it weren't for the leaden feeling in his stomach. It _was_ laughable, though. Divorce? Over one fight? Over what he was sure would turn out to be just one stupid movie in Angie's career of many, many stupid movies.

No, Angie was just being dramatic. It was her prerogative, after all. She was an actress now, officially. No more modeling, or being a model/actress doing ridiculous walk on roles on ABC Family travesties, none of that. Angelique Spect- Harvey cut off his thought and corrected himself, _Benoit_. Why not let her have it? It was better, actually. Fewer clients would ask fewer uncouth questions.

Angelique Benoit. Actress.

Harvey Specter. Laywer.

And, before Harvey could stop his own brain: Mike Ross. Associate pain in the ass.


	5. Chapter 5

It's boring to use a witty disclaimer _every_ time. Don't sue me!

_Author's Note: Here's the thing. I am super distracted by this story. I keep planning plot points in my head while I'm trying to get real life stuff done. Like my job. So, I'm going to finish this story as fast as humanly possible. I've got another four or five parts already written out. I hope nobody objects to rapid fire posting._

* * *

The same Mike Ross: Associate pain in the ass was asleep on his desk when Harvey strolled in early Sunday morning after taking a redeye back early Saturday morning. Or late Friday night, depending on how one looked at it, Harvey mused. For specificity's sake, Saturday morning.

Either way, he gave himself a moment to chuckle at Mike. Harvey's associate slept with his head pillowed on his arms and a not exactly small puddle of drool forming on the laminate top of his desk. Harvey moved on to his office and turned on the record player.

Mike woke up to the unnecessarily loud strains of Dr. John wafting through the bullpen. He jerked up, glanced distastefully at the pond of salvia on his desk, wiped his mouth, and headed for Harvey's office.

"[...]_Better World Somewhere_?" Mike intoned from the doorway, "Was the premier really _that_ bad?"

"Don't read too much into it, Rook," Harvey didn't look up from his computer, "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Mike retorted as he flopped onto Harvey's couch. Somewhere in between his commentary on Harvey's music and the way Harvey's fingers lessened their stabbing at his keyboard, Mike knew he was forgiven.

"I have an early meeting tomorrow, I wanted to look over some things," Harvey explained vaguely, frowning at something he read.

"So you came in at," Mike glanced at his cereal box watch, "6:30 on a Sunday? You could've just had me drop off anything you needed."

"And give you another excuse to just 'drop by' my apartment? I think not," Harvey shot back.

"Trust me, my late night visits- well, any and all visits to your place by my person have been permanently suspended," Mike assured him, covering a yawn.

"And why might that be?" Harvey asked, though he knew the answer quite well.

"Your wife doesn't like me." Mike avoided her name without realizing it, but it did not escape Harvey.

"Mike, if you stopped going places where there might be someone who didn't like you, your lack of self-esteem would cause you to cease to exist," Harvey laughed a little at his own joke, and Mike frowned.

"Are you _trying_ to get me back over to your place?" Mike queried, ignoring the original question that had popped into his head. Since when did Harvey laugh at his own jokes? Never, is when, unless his jokes were not so much jokes but incredibly damaging jabs at his opponents self-worth.

Mike's frown deepened as his thoughts spiraled on and he missed Harvey's rejoinder. Harvey took Mike's silence as permission to continue into the background on his Monday meeting. Mike, however, was too busy laying the facts out in his head and trying to make them fit together.

Harvey was married.

Harvey's wife had a movie coming out.

Harvey dropped everything on seemingly short notice to go to the premier.

Harvey looked distinctly uncomfortable at said premier.

Harvey came home early.

Harvey showed up at the office just after the ass crack of dawn on a Sunday.

Harvey played Dr. John a little too loud.

Harvey forgave him all the mishaps from the previous week without a lecture.

Harvey laughed at his own unfunny joke.

"You and Angelique had a fight," Mike interrupted whatever Harvey was explaining to him about one of the finer points of embezzlement.

"What?" Harvey finally looked up from his laptop, startled.

"You and Angelique have been fighting," Mike amended himself, "In that silent way that you fight with people by knocking down everything they do with your own awesomeness. And she called you out. And you had a fight fight. A real right."

Harvey knew that Mike's brain was dangerous when misapplied, but he hadn't ever considered Mike misapplying it this way.

"That's ludicrous. The premier was lovely," Harvey dismissed him and went back to his laptop.

"Then why aren't you in L.A?" Mike's eyes narrowed, sweeping up the barely there crookedness of Harvey's tie, the way a few inches of his collar sagged and crumpled, like the starch had given out from a previous wear.

"I told you," Harvey looked up, a harsh look in his eye, "Because I have a meeting early tomorrow. I need to get over my jetlag, and the only way to do that is to get up obscenely early and get on with my regular schedule so I go to bed early tonight."

Harvey was over-explaining, answering questions that Mike hadn't even asked. He couldn't help himself.

"Bullshit."

"Mike-"

"That's bullshit. What did you fight about?" Mike ignored the tone in Harvey's voice and plowed on. He found himself leaning over Harvey's desk with his arms spread wide, tips of his fingers resting on the glass top. Somewhere in the back of his head he realized he was trying to out-Harvey Harvey.

It worked. Harvey sat back in his chair and regarded Mike for a long moment.

"I'm going to reward your instinctive use of dominant body language in order to press for the information you desire. She got upset with me for not taking her career seriously. Also, she may have gathered I didn't particularly enjoy the film. She suggested that perhaps we should cut the weekend short and I obliged," Harvey explained nonchalantly and resumed his reading.

Mike still wasn't buying it.

"So, when will she be home?" The younger man resumed his seat on the couch but continued to regard Harvey warily.

"I don't know," Harvey sniffed, "Press tour for a few weeks, and then she'll probably have to stay in L.A. for awhile for contract negotiations for whatever film she's in next..." Harvey drifted off, "I suppose I should get in touch with a real estate agent out there, she'll need a condo when she gets back to the states."

Harvey was talking to himself now, and when Mike spoke again it was almost like the voice in his head asking just the right question to prompt him to the right conclusion.

"So, you'll be bicoastal?"

"Apparently. That would be easiest. I can't move to L.A."

"And she can't live in New York and have the career that she wants."

"Obviously."

"Harvey," Mike began with a lump in his throat. Harvey wasn't looking at him, instead resting his jaw on two knuckles as he contemplated the skyline. Whatever Mike was about to say was cut off by the buzzing of Harvey's phone.

"Angie," Harvey's voice when he answered was warm, almost conciliatory.

Mike got to his feet, "I'm going to catch a few hours of-"

"Honey, one second," Harvey put his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone and pointedly ignored the grimace Mike displayed at the word 'Honey,' "Don't come back until tomorrow morning. You look like shit."

Mike didn't bother to protest, just nodded once and went to collect his messenger bag.

"I'm here," Harvey returned to his call as Mike shuffled off down the hall, "Isn't it late there?"

"Harvey, baby," Angie sounded drunk. No. Angie _was_ drunk. She'd never called Harvey 'baby' once in her life. It made his skin crawl.

"I'm sorry I was cross with you," she continued, the noise level in the background rising.

"Angie, where are you?" Harvey tried not to sound annoyed.

"Justa party. I miss you." Harvey could practically hear her pouting.

"I'm sorry I gave you the impression I don't care about your career. I do. In fact, I was thinking I should set up a condo for you while you're out of the country. I'll know you'll have to stay in L.A. to book your next role," Harvey's voice sounded stilted to his own ears, but Angelique didn't seem to notice.

"Trying to get rid of me already?" Apparently she took more issue with his words.

"No, Angie, I just-"

"Don't 'Angie' me, Harvey! I call ya to tell you that I miz you, and you talk about getting me a house acroz the country from you!" she half shrieked, and Harvey heard what he was sure was Viktor's voice in the background, asking what was wrong.

"Angie, I don't know what you want from me," Harvey admitted bluntly. He noticed that he'd begun to tap his fingers along the surface of his desk and stilled his hand. Her behavior was uncharacteristic, and he didn't appreciate it.

"You could come back," Angie's voice was silk now, rasped just slightly with drunk.

"I would if I could. Listen, have Viktor or somebody email me the dates of the premiers and I'll join you at one or two, all right?" Harvey offered, refusing to allow his initial indignation at her suggestion show.

"All right, Harvey," Angie's replied distantly, and Harvey was sure he heard Viktor's voice, "I'll see you soon."

The length of the call began to flash across the screen of Harvey's phone, and then the image reverted back to his background image, the Pearson-Hardman header.


	6. Chapter 6

Harvey and Mike aren't mine, but movie references, the blues, and banter belong to all. Don't sue me!

_Author's Note: I know I started writing this exclusively from Mike's perspective, but more and more Harvey has crept in there. I've rediscovered the fact that it's so much easier for me to write the seemingly emotionless asshole than the naïve kid with his heart on his sleeve. I wonder why that might be. Anyway, I will do my best to fight my natural instinct and get more Mike in here. It... didn't really work out that way for this chapter._

* * *

Mike didn't even take his suit jacket off before collapsing onto his bed. He finally understood why Harvey didn't want personal bullshit in the office. It was exhausting to listen to somebody else's problems. He couldn't imagine how Harvey must feel, when he had to unwillingly listen and then usually _fix_ them. No wonder his hourly rate was so high, if he wasn't charging Mike for all the pro bono he did for the mess that was his associates life.

* * *

Mike was still pondering why Harvey hadn't started billing him for services rendered when he wandered up to Donna's desk Monday morning. The redhead already looked harassed, phone pressed up against her ear.

"Yes, Mr. McCormack, I understand. Yes, I will relay your sentiments on to Mr. Specter. No, your appointment stands as it is. Yes, thank you. Goodbye, Mr. McCormack.

Donna slammed down the phone and looked up at Mike, who automatically handed over his coffee. He'd get more in the break room, even it was battery acid.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking a long sip, "Harvey's trying to get a whole week cleared, within the next month."

She answered his unasked question and Mike's jaw dropped.

"A _week_? For what?" Mike almost squeaked. A week? Had Harvey lost his mind? Did he want Louis trying to poach every one of his clients that would walk through the doors in that amount of time? Worse than that, did he want Mike trying to handle all of his cases? Jessica would never allow it unless Harvey were on death's door.

"I don't know," Donna admitted her defeat with a sigh, "He won't tell me unless I can get it done."

She looked at Mike over her coffee and half-gasped. "You _know_ why! J'accuse!"

Mike didn't deny it. "Yeah, I think," he mumbled, "It's Angelique."

Donna's eyes narrowed for a microsecond before her face smoothed into blankness.

"Well, if it's for Angelique I'll keep trying," she looked almost despondently at the schedule she'd pulled up on her computer. "Do you know _why_ Angelique needs him for a week?" she added, trying not to sound sly. Mike half smiled at her.

"Not exactly. Let's just say you weren't entirely off with your assessment of the premier photos and Harvey may feel like he has something to make up to her," Mike explained, glancing up at the man in question. As if Harvey felt his associate's eyes on him, he held up a finger in the international gesture of "Wait a goddamn second and I'll be right with you."

"And she wants Harvey to join her someplace ridiculous while she's on her press tour," Donna had worked it out to her satisfaction, "Like Sydney."

The way she spat out the name Australian city made Mike retrain his eyes on her.

"What's your beef with Sydney?" he asked casually.

"I don't have 'beef,' I loathe Australia," she retorted, and did not explain. Mike rolled his eyes and turned to survey the office, leaning his elbows back on Donna's desk.

A moment later, two impatient fingers tapped his shoulder.

"Look through these," Harvey pushed a cardboard file box into Mike's chest, "And the other ten in the conference room, and then tell me how we're going to tie all these dirty financial dealings to the hospitals that got screwed in the files I gave you on Thursday."

"Yessir," Mike wrapped on arm around the box with one arm and saluted with the other. Harvey made an undignified nose, something like a snort, and waved Mike on his way.

When Harvey turned back around he found Donna regarding him suspiciously over a cup of fresh coffee.

"What?" he asked peevishly.

"Nothing," she answered calmly. The suspicion vanished, and was replaced with a harangued sort of cheerfulness, "Your heart's showing, though."

"What heart?"

"The one that just turned your face into a mushy pile of affection at the pup's antics," Donna was all nonchalance, her mouse pulling at the timeslots in Harvey's schedule.

"Get me my week, Donna. And hold my calls, I have a meeting."

Harvey was really going to have to be on the look out for loose panes of glass in his office if he kept talking to her like that, _especially_ if he was going to order her to do things she already knew to do. Donna answered him smoothly nonetheless.

"Yes, sir." She said it with far less affection than Mike.

* * *

It took Mike three hours to find Harvey's smoking gun. It took him six more to find them all. At just after 6 p.m. when he marched into Harvey's office without knocking, Mike was actually entertaining the idea of getting out of the office before dark.

"Got it!" Mike slapped the files down on Harvey's desk. Harvey looked up, smirking with what looked a little like pride.

"Oh?"

"Yep. In those folders are every monetary transfer from each hospital's investment portfolio, and the convoluted path each of those transfers took to end up to end up in Quimby's pockets. A little like Williamson, actually. Just less creepy, and maybe less creative. Oh, and it's color coded," Mike didn't try to mask the smugness creeping into his voice.

"Great. Now I want separate files on every transaction for each hospital for tomorrow's meeting." Harvey rather enjoyed wiping the cocky look of Mike's face.

"But Louis just wants a few proofs and I'll be done!" Mike protested, "Maybe I'll even get to see what my apartment looks like in the daylight!"

"Are you sure you want to?" Harvey wondered aloud.

"Yeah, right," Mike scrubbed a hand along his face, "I'll be in the conference room if you need me."

"Mike," Harvey called out as his associate moved towards the door, "If you finish before I leave, I'll take you for a drink."

Mike considered how hard he'd have to push to accomplish that.

"I pick the place," he stipulated, and was almost surprised when Harvey nodded.

"Sure. I'll slum it. Donna!" Harvey almost whistled her name, knowing she was listening.

"Yes, Mr. Specter?" Harvey wanted to sigh. Clearly still deep in the dog house there.

"Would you like to join Mike and I at a seedy dive bar this evening?" Harvey asked in his most chivalrous manner. Donna was quiet for a long moment.

"I'm bringing Rachel if she's free," Donna announced, and promptly left her desk. Harvey grinned at Mike, almost a little rakishly.

"She's so easy sometimes."

"Not ever again if she hears you calling her easy."

"Well then I guess she better never hear it. Or hear about it, for that matter." Harvey's eyebrows rose dangerously.

"I do have work to do," Mike practically shot out the door.

* * *

He was back only a few hours later, just as Harvey was rising to slide his jacket back on.

"Just under the wire, as always," Harvey commented, silently appraising the stack of files.

"Please, you waited for Donna to tell you I was on my way before standing up," Mike laughed, "But I won't even tell anybody you care this time. C'mon."

Mike was out the door of his office again, falling into step with Rachel and Donna on their way to the elevators. For a moment, Harvey considered simply handing one of them (Donna) his credit card and excusing himself for the night.

Just before he turned the corner, Mike turned back. His blue eyes were wide, excited, and he beckoned, almost tripping over his own feet as he walked backwards. Mike disappeared around the corner, and Harvey went after them.

* * *

Mike was drunk after three beers. He was completely sloshed after six. Harvey had forgotten the kid was such a lightweight. But then, he had no social life since Harvey had put an end to Trevor and piled on the work.

"I'm not taking him home," Donna announced, and Rachel shook her head as well.

"No way in Hell, Harvey. Besides, you're the one that suggested we go out drinking on a Monday night" the paralegal said in answer to what Harvey could only guess was a pleading look.

"Donna, come on, I can't be seen in that neighborhood-" Harvey started, wheedling.

"Ha!" Donna barked a harsh, loud laugh that caused several heads to turn, "After the shit you've given me over the last week, you want me to take drunken Mike back to his fleabag apartment at midnight, in these heels?" Donna dissolved into laughter.

"I can still hear you, you know," Mike pointed out from the corner of the booth he was slumped in.

"But you can't take yourself home, can you?" Harvey grumped, "I suppose I should just be glad you left your bike at the office."

"Have fun boys," Rachel twiddled her fingers at them as Harvey hauled Mike out of the booth and onto his feet, "Get home safe."

Donna just continued to giggle at the odd pair they made as she waved as well. Mike's constantly tousled bed-head rocked into the nook of Harvey's shoulder, Harvey's suit wrinkled as he supported Mike about the waist.

"If I find out I bought the bar a round, you're both fired," Harvey announced, and dragged Mike out of the bar.

The night was brisk, and once outside Mike tried to find his feet.

"I got it, I got it. Just get me a cab, hmm?" He started to pull away from Harvey's grasp and stumbled.

"I don't think so, Mike. The last thing I need is for you to give yourself a head injury tripping on the curb," Harvey caught Mike again and straightened him. Mike keeled into Harvey's chest as Harvey hailed a cab. Bony fingers spread along Harvey's ribs on one side as Mike fought inertia.

Thankfully, a taxi pulled up quickly. Harvey threw open the door and tossed Mike inside before settling into his own seat. He gave Mike's address brusquely, pushing at Mike's shoulder as his associate's head slid towards his lap.

Harvey finally had to settle for allowing Mike's head to loll against his shoulder.

"Smell good," Mike mumbled after a several silent minutes, and he nestled, _nestled_, into Harvey's shoulder, breathing on Harvey's neck.

"Thank you," Harvey shifted uncomfortably, very aware of the cabbie's eyes in the rearview, "You could never afford it."

"I know. S'why I'm enjoying it now."

The cab pulled up in front of Mike's building before Harvey had to reply. He pulled some bills from his wallet, and then Mike from the cab.

"So many stairs," Mike burped as Harvey opened his front door.

"Yes. Let's go," Harvey ordered. He could think of nothing else to say as he wrapped his arm around Mike's waist again and tugged him up the steps.

Five flights later, when they had finally reached Mike's door, Mike had sobered up a bit. He pulled a little nervously from Harvey's grasp and ran a hand through his hair as he fitted the key in the lock.

"I'd invite you in for a nightcap, but I think I've had enough," Mike tried to laugh, the door swung open slightly.

"I'd rather not go in," Harvey replied, a little prissily, "I don't know that my suit would survive."

"Oh, it's not that bad," Mike leaned into Harvey to push the door open all the way, "See?"

As Mike pulled back, he couldn't help but drag his eyes over Harvey's mouth. Mike stilled before his heels reached the ground, tipped dangerously forward.

His eyes were half-drunk, heavy lidded, but still that piercing crystal blue and Harvey couldn't look away. He was too busy trying to push away the unwelcome warmth that crept through his belly.

"I'm already your dirty little secret, right?" Mike whispered, and Harvey felt the words more than heard them. He definitely felt Mike's lips press firmly and quickly against his own.


	7. Chapter 7

If Harvey were real, I would be in so. Much. Trouble. Just imagine the slander suits. Not mine, don't own, don't sue.

_Author's Note: I apologize in advance to any Australian readers. It's just a silly one off joke, although you guys seriously are weird with the Adidas thing._

* * *

_I'm already your dirty little secret, right?_

Harvey felt a little sick as the words rocketed through his brain. Gently, he splayed a hand across Mike's chest and pushed him back slowly.

"I don't know why I did that," Mike started rambling immediately, "That was totally inappropriate, I can't believe," he swallowed thickly, "Please don't tell Jessica. Or Donna. Or Louis. Or Rachel. Or anybody! Please, Harvey."

"Mike," Harvey felt suddenly worn out, sighing the kid's name. It was effective, though, and Mike just stared at him through those disturbingly blue eyes.

"You're not anybody's dirty little secret. You've earned your job ten times over, and you've always deserved somebody to," Harvey was almost certainly going to regret what he was about to say, "care about you. Love you. And that's not me."

"I know," Mike spoke to his loafers.

"Get some sleep, pup. Be on time for the meeting." Harvey clapped a hand on Mike's shoulder and half-shoved him into his apartment.

It was funny, though, Harvey realized as he hailed yet another cab. Angie hadn't even crossed his mind.

* * *

Mike felt awful when his alarm rang at 5 a.m. His stomach protested his legs swinging to the floor, but his head screamed at sitting up. He shuffled to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee.

Shuffled to the bathroom, dragged a comb through his hair, and brush over his teeth.

Shuffled to the bedroom, tugged on suit, tie, socks, shoes.

Shuffled back to the kitchen, drank two cups of coffee and poured a travel mug for the cab.

Shuffled to collect for his bike helmet, messenger bag, keys.

Shuffled for the door.

Dropped his coffee as the overwhelming memory of Harvey on his doorstep washed through his head.

"Oh no," Mike mumbled it aloud, and then repeated it, louder, when he looked down at his shoes and the trousers of his suit.

Even with the cab, he was most certainly going to be late.

Harvey was not happy. Mike could see it from down the block. He was still throwing money at the cabbie and slamming the door shut when Harvey stalked up to him.

"You're late," Harvey growled, and grabbed Mike's collar. Mike didn't bother to protest as Harvey dragged him to the town car and heaved him inside.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Ray took off.

"I thought the meeting was here?" Mike pressed his nose to the glass of the window to look back as the Pearson-Hardman building disappeared.

"I had Donna call New York Presbyterian to explain that there had been some flooding in our offices due to a plumbing mishap, so would they mind pushing the meeting a half an hour and holding it in their offices? No? Wonderful." Harvey didn't appear to find it wonderful.

"Our offices flooded?"

Even Ray choked a little at that.

"My _God_, Mike. If I didn't know for a fact that you're a genius, I swear..." Harvey didn't finish his threat, just leveled a heavy look at Mike and waited.

"You... you pushed your meeting for me? Why?" Mike coughed a little, because it obviously had nothing to do with what had happened the night before.

"Because, Michael, I didn't get a chance to read the files you put together last night. I was too busy dragging my own personal damsel in distress back to his apartment because he was hammered," Harvey explained through gritted teeth.

"Right," Mike whispered, and swallowed. He raised his voice before he continued, "I'm sorry. I know the transactions all the way through, no problem. We'll get through it, and it'll never happen again."

"Damn right it won't," Harvey said, though with only a moderate amount of venom.

The meeting went smoothly enough, considering. Representatives from nearly all of New York's premier hospitals agreed to file a class action suit against the former hedge fund manager they had shared as soon as the criminal case against him had been decided. It was simple stuff, really. And Mike's third embezzlement case in a row.

"If I have to look at another financial report for the rest of my life it'll be too soon," he groaned, slumping into the soft leather in the back of the town car.

"We're corporate lawyers, Mike. Embezzlement is a big part of our lives, like it or not," Harvey replied, with his nose buried in his phone once again.

"I know, but God. Couldn't we work on a merger or something? There's gotta be a multi-million dollar deal going down somewhere in this city. Get me in on it. Preferably if one of the party's has something totally shady going on," Mike continued to whine, trying to ignore the dull ache in his head and the grumbling in his stomach. It was already nearly noon and he had yet to eat.

"'Something totally shady?'" Harvey repeated, "I wasn't aware I'd hired a fourteen year old girl from the Valley to be my associate."

Mike opened his mouth to reply, but changed his mind. There was too much going on in his head, bits and pieces of which forced him into battle with his own fair skin. He _refused_ to blush in front of Harvey.

The town car pulled up in front of Pearson-Hardman and Mike mumbled his thanks to Ray as he scrambled for the curb and headed for the hot dog cart.

"Mike," Harvey was right behind him, hand on his shoulder.

"I'm _hungry,_" Mike shrugged the hand off, "I'll be up in a few minutes, I promise."

"What's the matter with you?" Harvey was exasperated. He also wasn't used to having to drag information out of Mike, who still knew nothing about playing anything close to the vest.

"Nothing. I'm hungover and I screwed up your meeting and I'm hungry and you're about to ditch me for a week to go somewhere stupid like Sydney." The last part fell out of Mike's mouth without his brain's say-so.

"You sound like Donna," Harvey scoffed, "What is it about Australia?"

"Probably the poisonous creatures lurking around every corner. Plus the truly obnoxious accent. You know none of them can pronounce Adidas properly, right?" Mike replied, one of the many knots in his stomach loosening as Harvey ignored his petulance. Mike paid for his hot dog and took a small bite, chewing slowly.

"Well, I'm not going to Australia, I'm going to France. We'll get to see Angelique's family while we're there, it'll be lovely."

Mike didn't know why Harvey was suddenly volunteering all this information, or why he kept using the word lovely to describe things that were clearly the opposite. In-laws? Seriously? Mike could not picture Harvey making nice with a pair of French cheese makers, or whatever ridiculous profession Angelique's parents had taken up that made her yearn to be an actress.

Instead of voicing what were sure to be unappreciated opinions, Mike just asked: "When?"

"End of the week, Donna just emailed me the details. I leave Friday afternoon and I'll be back next Thursday afternoon," Harvey answered distractedly, and not for the first time Mike had the urge to knock the phone out of Harvey's hand.

"As in _this _Friday?" Mike swallowed the last of his hot dog before he choked on it.

"Yes, Mike. We just put a pin in the hospital case until the criminal prosecution is over, and God knows when that'll be. Besides, the briefs are practically ready to be filed as soon as the verdict comes down. That's the biggest case we've got lying around right now. I'm sure Louis will keep you busy while I'm gone," Harvey grinned wolfishly at that last part. Mike couldn't suppress the groan that passed his lips.

Harvey did his best to ignore the noise, and continued "If any crises crop up while I'm gone, Jessica has agreed to handle them. Although in return I have to be in her office five minutes ago for what I'm sure will be an empowering lecture."

Without another word, Harvey turned and headed into the building. For a minute, Mike wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Harvey had practically just told him he didn't have any work to do, and Mike wasn't sure his pride could handle waltzing into Louis' office and declaring himself free to do whatever work Louis had. He crumpled the napkin from his lunch and tossed in it the trash and decided to loiter around the plaza for a few minutes before he accepted his inevitable fate as Louis' bitch for nearly two weeks.

* * *

"The only reason I've agreed to let you take so much time off is because you haven't been on vacation since you made junior partner, and I don't want you to die of a heart attack before you're 50," Jessica announced as soon as Harvey stepped into her office.

"So nice to know you worry about my welfare, Jessica," Harvey retorted as he settled into a chair, "Why did you want to see me?"

"I want to know why in the last two weeks you've suddenly become a jetsetter," Jessica leaned back against her desk, folding her arms across her chest.

"I was always been a jetsetter, Jessica," Harvey protested, making Jessica scoff.

"No, you've always represented jetsetters, Harvey. In order to be considered a jetsetter, I'm fairly certain one must actually travel," she shot back, "What's going on?"

"Angie and I are going through a rough patch." Harvey hadn't realized it was true until he said it out loud. "Rough patch." What a pedestrian phrase. He made a mental note not to use it again.

"You seemed fine at the associate's dinner," Jessica pointed out, and Harvey laughed mirthlessly.

"I'm a lawyer married to an actress, Jessica. After I got home it was all 'Your parties are so boring,' and 'You never come with me to work events.' Trivial, but irritating nonetheless," Harvey explained, picking an imaginary piece of lint from the knee of his trousers.

"I'm not a marriage counselor, Harvey," Jessica held up a hand to prevent him from arguing that he did not _need_ a marriage counselor, thank you very much, "But I'm sure a week in Paris will help pacify her."

"It's so cliché," Was all Harvey could say in response.

"Angelique's an actress, Harvey. Clichés are all she knows. Tell Mike I want a detailed summary of all your cases on my desk by Thursday morning." It was a clear dismissal, and Harvey accepted it gratefully, ducking out of her office.

He found Mike lounging outside his office, chatting with Donna.

"I take it you haven't been to sacrifice yourself to Louis yet?" Harvey asked as he approached, making Mike jump. Automatically, Harvey put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"No," Mike almost gulped.

"Good. Jessica wants a summary of all my cases on her desk by Thursday," Harvey informed him, dragging his hand back.

"Really?" It was a little bit disconcerting how Mike's face lit up, "Only a week of Louis! Thanks Harvey, Bye Donna!"

It was all Mike could do to keep from punching the air as he scampered off. Donna giggled to herself. Harvey raised an eyebrow at her.

"What?" he questioned, and she gave him an appraising look.

"He'd take a bullet for you," Donna told him finally. Harvey felt his jaw go slightly slack, and he swallowed to cover it.

"Don't be silly, he's a coward. A _smart_ coward, but still a coward," he countered, smoothing his jacket.

"He's excited to summarize cases for _Jessica_, Harvey. And he's not a coward, he's in awe of you. Still."

"As well he should be," Harvey shook his head a little ruefully and marched into his office.


	8. Chapter 8

Funny disclaimer lines are hard when I'm tired. Not mine, don't sue.

_Author's Note_: _Holy crap is this story taking forever to go anywhere. Seriously I'm at like 11,000 words and all you've gotten is one crappy, drunken kiss. I apologize profusely and I'll do my best to rectify the situation. But probably not in this chapter either._

* * *

Harvey hated transatlantic flights. Hell, hated transcontinental flights too, but there was something about flying over miles and miles of endless ocean that made him insignificant.

Harvey Specter was many things; insignificant was not one of them.

Thankfully there was a smartly dressed man holding a sign with his name on it just outside customs.

"Mr. Specter?" the man asked, already reaching for Harvey's bag.

"Oui," Harvey half-sighed as he handed it over. He was lead briskly out of the airport and his bag loaded into the trunk of a sleek black town car. The familiar seeming sight did nothing to placate Harvey's jangled nerves.

"Where to?" the efficient little man asked in English as he bent himself into the driver's seat.

"Ritz," Harvey replied, scrubbing a hand over his face with a grimace. Stubble. He hated stubble. The car pulled off from the curb with a small screech.

Harvey would never admit it to anyone, but by the time they pulled up in front of the hotel he had his seatbelt in a death grip. Anyone who ever complained about Ray's driving through New York after this would get a goddamn earful.

"All right, sir?" the driver asked as Harvey hit the curb, somewhat paler than he had been when he got off the plane.

"Fine, fine," Harvey answered distractedly, and pulled his suitcase free of the man's grip, "I've got it from here."

"Very good, sir."

Barely a moment later and the car shot off into traffic again. Harvey shook himself slightly, and then strode up the red carpeted steps and into the hotel.

Harvey was safely ensconced in Angelique's rooms five minutes after that, though the suite was empty. He barely managed to get his suit into a garment bag before stumbling into the bathroom to shower.

After half an hour under scalding hot water, a particularly vicious scrubbing of his teeth, and a careful shave, Harvey felt almost human again. Still though, Angelique had yet to appear and Harvey wasn't sure what to do with himself. He knew she must be doing something important to miss his arrival time. He threw himself into an armchair and dug his cell phone out of his carry on.

_How's the office?_

_It's barely six on a Saturday, Harvey, I'm not there yet. Is international texting expensive?_ Mike answered almost immediately, making Harvey roll his eyes, although he guessed Mike had only just woken up.

_You should be expensing your cell phone, Mike. The only numbers in it are mine, Donna's and Rachel's._

_Jessica's now too. Let's just say she was impressed with my summaries. I might not be your associate for much longer ;)_

_Don't ever send me another emoticon, Mike. Winky face? Are you twelve? And no matter who you're working for or what you're doing, you'll always be my associate._

_You're not denying that you'd let Jessica have me._

Harvey also couldn't deny that he appreciate, almost enjoyed, Mike's habitual use of correct grammar when he texted. Not to mention the lack of abbreviations.

_I would, if she asked nicely, but I wouldn't be happy about it. And it wouldn't be permanent. _

_Aw, Harvey! You do care._

_I most certainly do not, I-_ Harvey looked up midway through his text as the door swung open. Angelique and several members of her entourage, including Viktor, poured in.

_Have to go._ Harvey changed what he was about to say, hit send, and shoved his phone in his pocket.

"Harv! How's my gorgeous lawyer today?" Viktor noticed him first, flashing a tight smile.

"I'm not your lawyer, Viktor. I'm not even Angie's lawyer anymore, thanks to you," Harvey retorted.

"My fault!" Tim, Angie's manager and someone Harvey almost never actually saw raised his hand, although his eyes remained focused on his phone, "I decided it was a conflict of interest. Viktor just asked if he could be the one to tell you."

"I see," Harvey surveyed Viktor appraisingly and the publicist flashed another tight smile, albeit a slightly more nervous one.

Angelique chose that moment to pour herself into Harvey's lap.

"Darling," she practically purred, "How was your flight?"

"Fine," Harvey kissed her gently, one hand resting high on her thigh, "How was your press thing?"

"Oh no," she laughed, "I was just at brunch. The press thing is this afternoon. Lyla wants to talk to you about it, actually. She said something about approving your suit."

"I see," Harvey said again, though he clearly did not see why he needed to have his suit "approved" by Angelique's stylist.

"I hate to break this up, lovebirds, but Wes Anderson is in town shooting some artsy piece of shit and he wants to meet with Angelique," Tim interrupted, and Angelique hopped to her feet.

"Should I change?" she asked, looking down at herself. Harvey thought she looked striking in a simple red and white patterned sundress, though he knew no one would ask his opinion.

"Hmm," Viktor considered, "No. Actually, that's probably fine for the premier too. It's a daytime thing... I'll have get Lyla to get you some sunglass. Something Parisian chic, but not too Victoria Beckham."

Apparently this string of words meant something to everyone else in the room, and Tim moved from his reclining position against the wall.

"I'll get them," he announced, and strode out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Harvey wondered if he shouldn't have volunteered. Lyla wanted to see him anyway, and he would do just about anything to get away from Viktor who was, at that particular moment, ogling Angelique in a reconsideration of her dress.

Tim was back a moment later anyway, sunglasses, Lyla, and a makeup artist in tow.

"Let's see the suits, Harv," Lyla announced, flouncing towards the bedroom to find the garment bags Harvey had unpacked and hung up.

The makeup artist sat Angelique near the window and began to reapply eyeliner, which Harvey didn't understand at all since she looked beautiful and everyone knew she'd be wearing sunglasses anyway.

His attention was drawn away from Angelique by a cackle of laughter from the bedroom. He sighed and headed towards the sound of Lyla's laughter.

"Care to share what's so funny?" he leaned in the doorway and Lyla glanced at him, holding up a heather grey three piece.

"It's a great suit, Harv, don't get me wrong," she began, running her fingers over the material approvingly, "But what is with the three piece thing? It's a movie premier, not a courtroom. You don't need armor."

Somewhere in the back of his mind Harvey acquiesced that perhaps Lyla wasn't a complete moron, but he argued with her nonetheless.

"I _like_ three piece suits. They're classic, you're never inappropriately dressed. And I swear, Lyla, if I hear you use the phrase 'sloppy chic' again, I'm going to fire you," Harvey retorted.

"You're not allowed," she shrugged with a smile, "But I won't. A blind man could see you're a put together type of guy. How about we just forgo the jacket and the waistcoat, hmm? It's an afternoon premier, you don't need them," Lyla saw that Harvey was about to refuse, "I'll let you keep the tie and cufflinks?"

"...Fine," Harvey bit out, finally.

"I know Viktor's a bit much, but Tim and I aren't so bad. And it's for Angelique, right? You'd look just silly standing next to her in a three piece suit at a daytime premier," Lyla offered by way of apology, "You're a good guy, Harv."

"Stop calling me Harv," Harvey glared at her and she nodded quickly.

"Sure, sure. Listen, the Wes Anderson thing is going to be boring as hell, and he's sure to piss you off. He's an entitled artist type, you know. You should nap, I'll make sure somebody wakes you up before we need to go," Lyla suggested and Harvey hated her just a little bit less.

"...Thanks," he said, begrudgingly. She tucked his suit carefully back into its bag, hung it up, and patted him on the shoulder on her way out.

Harvey, who had changed into a pair of slacks and a Henley after his shower, shucked off his pants and crawled into bed. He didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow.

After Angelique shook him awake three hours later, everything passed by in a blur. Got dressed, argued with a makeup artist for twenty minutes before Viktor pointed out that Harvey was making them late, acquiesced to said makeup artist, posed for photos feeling like a painted china doll, answered inane questions with a microphone too close to his face, smiled adoringly at Angelique, went to dinner, made nice with Angelique's parents, (A writer and a photographer, of course.) and fell back into bed with his arm draped over Angelique's hips. For the first time, Harvey began to feel some actual appreciation for Angelique's work. Acting like he gave a shit and trying not to murder her entourage was more draining than he thought it would be.


	9. Chapter 9

The party of the first part, hereby known as IllustratedGirl, formally acquiesces that the party of the second part, hereby known as USA Network, owns all rights to Suits.

Look, I can say don't sue me like a lawyer!

* * *

_Come here._

Mike got Donna's text just after noon and scurried to her desk.

"Around," Donna ordered, and as he stepped behind her, she nodded towards her computer screen.

"Check it out."

"Holy crap," Mike breathed, "Where's his jacket?"

"His jacket? Mike, look at his _hair!_" Donna's whisper was almost a shriek.

It was then that Mike noticed how loosely Harvey's hair fell over his forehead, and that there was something slightly off about the color of his skin.

"Is it the white balance or is Harvey-" Donna clicked through to the next photo. It was much more strikingly obvious from the new angle.

"Wearing makeup," Mike finished his sentence incredulously.

"No. way. No fucking way. If Louis ever finds out about this, Harvey will _never_ live it down. What the hell is he doing?" Mike shook his head, gobsmacked.

"I don't know, but I don't like it." Donna's tone also said that she would put a stop to it the moment she could.

"Donna," Mike began slowly, searching for the right way to put what he was about say, "I don't know anything about Angelique or anything, but this isn't Harvey. We both know he's got to be completely miserable flitting around Paris like a debutante. I mean, she's his wife. Shouldn't she know that he's completely hating every second of it?"

"Oh, I'm sure she does know. Deep down, Angelique is more cunning and manipulative than Harvey could ever hope to be. And she really is as heartless as he pretends to be," Donna's voice was dark, but Mike wasn't convinced.

"I know you don't like her, I don't either. But Harvey wouldn't let himself get conned like that. And why would Angelique need to con him? I'm sure modeling paid the bills before Harvey came along," he reasoned, straightening up and leaning against her desk. Donna glanced furtively around the office, but more than half of Pearson-Hardman was at lunch.

"When Harvey met Angelique he had just quit the DA's office and started making some real money. She was a struggling model with four roommates, and he was somebody who would keep her in audition clothes and introduce her to New York's elite at client events. Harvey got the perfect accessory and Angelique got to quit her retail job," Donna said in a hushed whisper, as if her words explained anything.

"So?" Mike couldn't see what that had to do with anything. Lots of couples got together, and stayed together, for less valid reasons. If marriage was a business agreement then keeping your business partner happy was part of that agreement.

"_So,_" Donna mimicked, "Harvey never thought about it that way, but she thought he did. Angelique was successful in her gold digging because it was unintentional. If she was smart enough to think ahead, Harvey would've seen the deception in her. When it started she was so grateful, and maybe even so happy, that Harvey never saw anything else. And when she did figure out that he actually cared about her, she sure as hell rolled with it," Donna was almost snapping now, and Mike saw a familiar fire crackling in her eyes. He was suddenly stunned that Angelique had lasted this long, had managed to get Harvey's ring on her finger. Figuratively, of course.

"You don't think she cares about Harvey at all?" Mike felt despondent at the thought.

"Oh, I'm sure she does in her way. But he was a convenient escape for her, and she'll drop him the second it's in her best interest. She's been laying the groundwork unintentionally with her ridiculous behavior," Donna seemed to pick up on his thoughts and sat back in her chair, seeming to sag a little.

"Harvey would never have gone to L.A. or Paris if she didn't act like a kicked puppy," Mike agreed and Donna raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Sound familiar?" she asked. Mike was flabbergasted.

"But, I do care about Harvey! I'd never try to make do him to something I knew he truly didn't _want_ to do," Mike almost glared at her, and Donna made a gentle noise of agreement.

"I know, Mike. I'm just trying to show you how Harvey ends up with people like Angelique in his life. He likes projects, it's just that generally they aren't as worthy of his attention as you," Donna had a look in her eyes that Mike couldn't identify and, though it felt out of context, he couldn't help but remember the look on her face as her mouth said "The feelings just... go away."

"Is that how Harvey got you?" Mike asked, pushing away a sudden knot of guilt as that memory led to the thought of his lips on Harvey's outside his apartment door.

"Please," Donna scoffed, "Harvey was _my_ last project. My masterpiece."

She chuckled at the idea, "Now I just stay around to make sure nobody climbs the velvet rope and spray paints him."

"Seems like you're doing a great job of it, too, seeing as how he's likely to get the heart he pretends not to have broken." Mike knew it was a nasty thing to say, but he couldn't help himself.

Donna eyed him, but finally decided against sinking her ballpoint into his thigh.

"She won't break his heart," she answered finally.

"Oh?" It was Mike's turn to raise a brow.

"She hasn't got it anymore, it's just that neither of them know it yet," Donna retorted evasively, and stood to grab her purse, "Come on. You're buying me lunch."

* * *

Harvey rolled out of bed late the next day. His body still hadn't adjusted to Parisian time, but it wasn't on a New York clock either. He grunted at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, trying not to regret coming. He had almost week of free time in Paris, with Angelique. Sure, she had some press events, but Tim had gotten her out of attending the premier in London just so Harvey's week off would be worth it.

Harvey spat into the sink and lounged back into the bedroom to get dressed. As he buckled his belt, he heard a raised voice from the living room.

"I can't talk about him now!"

Angelique's voice, loud and insistent.

"We have to talk about him now, Angie, it's _important_ now!" Viktor's voice replied, making Harvey swallow involuntarily. Harvey wasn't one to listen around corners, but he couldn't bring himself to step into the room. He hung back, hoping that Angelique would say no, settle the matter.

Instead she stayed quiet and Viktor continued.

"He's an anchor, Angie! Sure, he kept you in the right clothes for a while, but then it was always about _him._ It's about you now, you're career! Harvey's no longer an asset to your image, he's a detriment. Your more accessible if you're single, and if you're more accessible you're more popular," Viktor explained, and the rational side of Harvey didn't disagree with him. The irrational side, however, wanted to throttle Viktor's skinny neck. Harvey Specter, an anchor. The idea was plainly insane.

"I hate to say it, Angelique," Tim's voice sounded, calm and reasonable, "Because I sort of like Harvey, and we all know I loathe Viktor, but unfortunately he's right. You clearly don't love him anymore, you're never a worse actress then when you try to make him think you do. I think it's time you let him go."

Harvey waited for Angelique's answer, trying to soothe the molten mix of anger and betrayal swimming in his stomach.

"I'll talk to him after Japan, all right?" Angelique sounded tired, but Harvey didn't care. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

All three heads snapped towards him when he cleared his throat. Angelique looked suddenly terrified, Tim looked vaguely apologetic and Viktor? Viktor looked smug.

"Listening around corners now, Harvey? Although you are a lawyer, I guess I shouldn't expect any better," Viktor was clearly aiming for superior nonchalance.

"Shut the fuck up, Viktor," Tim sighed when the publicist missed his mark.

"Harvey, I-" Angelique began, though it was obvious she had no idea what she was going to say.

"There's no need to wait until after Japan, Angie, it'll be a quick conversation. I only have one thing to say," Harvey interrupted her and then paused, waiting.

"Yes, Harvey?" she asked finally, timidly.

"The eleventh floor awaits your call."

Harvey turned back towards the bedroom to pack his bags.


	10. Chapter 10

I solemnly swear that I don't own Suits.

* * *

When Mike saw Harvey sitting behind his desk at just past 7 on Monday morning, he nearly choked on his coffee. Swallowing hard and chasing his cough down with a second slug of coffee, Mike crept up to Donna.

"What is he doing here?" Mike questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," Donna clearly felt no such impulse to keep her voice down, "He just walked in, told me he had a meeting at 2, but other than that he was free for whatever might come up, and parked himself behind his desk."

"But he's supposed to be in Paris," Mike said stupidly, a vague inkling of remembrance telling him he was the only one who knew that Harvey had left L.A. early, too.

"I'm aware of that, but he hasn't mentioned anything about it. If you want to know so badly, just go ask him," Donna ushered Mike into Harvey's office and surreptitiously flipped on the intercom.

"Uh," Mike stood awkwardly near the door, "Hey, Harvey."

"Hello," Harvey didn't look up from his computer.

"How," Mike coughed, "How was Paris?"

"Use your powers of deduction and tell me, Michael. I'll give you a hint: I'm back in New York," Harvey retorted snidely. Mike took a deep breath, trying to calm the instant rush of hurt and fury at Harvey's tone.

"So, it didn't go well. She'll be back in New York soon and-" Mike tried to keep his voice light, but his prickled sense of mishandling sharpened when Harvey interrupted him again.

"We're getting divorced."

Any sense of being wronged drained out of Mike, along with his ability to stay upright. He sank into a seat on the couch.

"That seems sudden," Mike managed when he could speak again.

"Not really," Harvey shrugged, "I just didn't see it coming. And if I didn't see it coming, there's no way you could have. Donna probably did, though. Right, Donna?" Harvey posed his question to the air, but Mike saw Donna nod slowly out the corner of his eye. Even with her back turned, Donna knew better than to lie to Harvey.

"You see? Not so sudden," Harvey concluded.

"I, uh, I guess. It just seems weird you went all the way to France for a romantic week with your wife and you're back after two days, announcing your separation. Isn't there more fight in you than that?" Mike knew it was the wrong time, the wrong subject, to challenge Harvey. He did it anyway.

"Why should I fight for something that has clearly been one-sided for a while, and it's barely even that any more. She's a beautiful woman, sure, but there's no shortage of those," Harvey still would not look up from his computer.

"She's not just some beautiful woman, Harvey, obviously. You married her. You must have loved her then, at least," Mike just couldn't stop pushing. It occurred to him it was a trait Harvey had worked hard to instill in him.

"Love and marriage don't always go together like a horse and carriage, Mike," Harvey replied, his tone starting to soften.

"_Married with Children_ references, Harvey? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Come on, tell me what the hell's going on," Mike almost demanded, sitting forward on the couch. Harvey loosed a short, sharp sigh.

"I have apparently become a detriment to Angelique's career. She is more marketable as an actress if she's single. Her management team agrees, and so when she returns to this side of the Atlantic, I'm going to file for divorce," Harvey struggled to keep his voice even.

"'Her management team agrees'" Mike echoed, "Harvey, what does that even mean? Do _you_ want a divorce?"

Harvey almost laughed at that, but settled for quirking an eyebrow at Mike.

"I know New York isn't a no-fault state, but if Angelique wants a divorce, she'll get it whether I object or not." Mike couldn't help but note that he'd stopped calling her Angie.

"Answer the question asked, Harvey. I don't care about 'objecting,' I've accepted the facts of your imminent bachelorhood. I want to know if a divorce is what you _want_," Mike repeated earnestly, and Harvey could feel those over bright blue eyes boring into the side of his face, but he continued to stare studiously at his computer.

The silence sat empty between them for several long minutes. Mike could feel Donna practically twitching just outside Harvey's door.

"I don't know what I want," Harvey admitted finally, his eyes flicking at Mike. For his part, Mike was floored.

Harvey Specter _always_ knew what he wanted.

"If she doesn't want to be with me, then I don't want to be with her. Sometimes I can't even remember why I was with her in the first place. Being an uncommon beauty isn't exactly the greatest recommendation to being a wife, and since her career started taking off she's been... different. It's like she expects me to be upset that she's outshining me, and then she's upset that I'm not upset. She doesn't understand that I never set out to be famous. I set out to be the best, and I am the best. If notoriety comes along with that, then so be it. Her intention was always for the whole world to know her name, and becoming an actress was the only way for her to accomplish that. I was attracted by her looks, and then I was so distracted by them, and by the fact that she seemed so enamored of me even when I was being a merciless prick, that I never looked at her motivations from the right angle to see that they're shallow, coarse, and pedantic. Until now, of course. So what do I want? I want to not be tied to someone like that anymore, and if it means I have to get a divorce because I was stupid enough to get married, then so be it."

Harvey's words came out in a flood, like once he started talking he couldn't stop himself. It was more words than Mike had ever heard him speak at one time, and it took even his brain a moment to process it all.

"So, you're okay?" Mike asked slowly, and Harvey nodded slowly back.

"Yeah. I feel stupid, but I'll survive."

"You're not stupid, Harvey," Mike offered, making Harvey scoff.

"I know that, Ross. And keep your mouth shut about this until after my meeting with Waterman. By the time that's over, the entire firm will know. Divorce has a big mouth. Get back to work," Harvey ordered, smirking a little at Mike's crestfallen face.

"For Louis?" Mike almost pouted.

"Yes, for Louis. My schedule's pretty light this week. But you're only working until 6, so don't get too engrossed in anything," Harvey informed him casually, waiting for the inevitable followup.

"Why only until 6?" Mike was so predictable sometimes.

"Because I'm taking you and Donna to dinner."

"...Why?" That was Donna, finally finding her entry into the conversation.

"To thank you for not saying 'I told you so,' I knew you never liked her," Harvey told her, a warmth in his voice that Mike had never heard before.

"Got that right," Donna mumbled, but a slow smile had crept over her face.

Harvey looked at her for a moment before training his eyes back on Mike. His associate stared at him expectantly for a beat.

"Go."

"Oh, right." Mike rushed out of the room.

* * *

Mike spent all day willing the clock to read 5:45, but it dragged so slowly that finally around 3, he stubbornly refused to look at it anymore.

_Bzzt, Bzzt._

Mike's phone nearly rattled itself off his desk, but he caught it on the edge.

_You're late._

Mike glanced at his clock: 6:05.

His phone went off again.

_Lobby. Now._

Mike was all of a sudden Hurrican Mikey, a flurry of papers and personal belongings and file folders until everything was packed away and he was half sprinting towards the elevators. Louis' voice stopped him before he got there.

"Where are you going?" the junior partner did his best to sound nonchalant.

"I have a dinner," Mike answered evasively.

"With whom?"

It occurred to Mike to lie, except he wasn't sure who he could use as a better excuse to leave the building at just after 6 on a Monday.

"Harvey and Donna."

"Harvey and," Louis paused a beat, "Donna. Without a client?" It was stated like a question, though it clearly wasn't. Still, Louis waited for Mike to answer.

"Yeah."

"Well then you can't possibly leave, there's much too much to be done around here. Harvey and Donna will simply have to eat without you," Louis smiled at him, those rat-like teeth poking out from behind heavy lips.

"But-" Mike was cut off by the buzzing of his phone.

_Mike. NOW._

"What are you still standing around for, go back to your desk," Louis brushed him off, though he didn't head back towards his office. Mike swallowed.

"I have a dinner," he repeated, and moved towards the elevators. It wasn't a surprise that Louis tried to block his path, it was surprising how aggressive he was about it. Louis' face was scant inches from Mikes as he glowered.

"Go back. To your desk. Or you are fired."

"I promised Har-" This time it wasn't the ringing of Mike's phone that cut him off, it was the long fingers that clamped themselves around the back of Louis' neck. Mike had been so focused on getting the hell out of there that he hadn't even seen Harvey turn the corner.

"Can I do something for you, Louis?" Harvey asked sweetly.

"No, Harvey," Louis wriggled away from the hand, "I was just informing my employee that without a valid excuse to leave, he should get back to his desk and finish the work assigned to him."

"Your employee?" Harvey's smirk was dangerous, and there was a glint like steel in his eyes.

"Yes," Louis barely wavered, "I'm in charge of the associates. Mike is an associate. Mike is my employee."

"You forget that I _handpicked_ Mike from a group of Harvard clones, any one of which you would have hired without a second glance at this towheaded idiot, which certainly would have been a detriment to the firm. Mike is _my_ associate, and I require his presence at an extremely important dinner. If you'll excuse us." This time Harvey's fingers closed around the back of Mike's neck and he dragged the younger man past Louis and into the elevator.

"Thanks," Mike muttered, "He cornered me and-"

"Don't ever be late to a dinner I invite you to again, should the invitation ever be extended again that is," Harvey cut him off.

"Y-yeah." It took Harvey a moment to notice the reason Mike stuttered. His hand was still wrapped around the back of Mike's neck, thumb rubbing lazy, absent circles below Mike's left ear. He removed the offending limb and Mike seemed to breathe again.


	11. Chapter 11

Suits is property of USA Network, copyright 2011.

_Author's Note: shouts to 1stBonesFan, CazB, KittyandStars and the hilarious, anonymous, "Z" for the lovely reviews. Also, I know part of it has to do with the ridiculous amount I've posted in the last twenty four hours, but seriously? The page views for this are sort of staggering. (Or maybe they're not, in the grand scheme, but it's been a while since I got a thousand hits in less than a day.) My love affair with the Suits fandom continues._

* * *

Harvey was _drunk._ When he had invited Mike and Donna to dinner, they both had assumed that it would be dinner for three. Instead it was dinner for two and drinks for eight.

"You know I don't usually use alcohol to cope," Harvey had the slow, precise speech of someone trying to stave off the affects of alcohol on their tongue, "But damn if I'm not having a fine time of it tonight."

"We'd noticed," Donna retorted dryly, neatly dabbing her lips with her napkin before placing it in the center of her empty plate, covering her crossed cutlery.

"This has been lovely," she announced as she stood "but I'm going to leave before it isn't anymore. Thank you for dinner," Donna stooped to kiss Harvey's cheek, "Have fun getting him home," she whispered in Mike's ear before kissing him as well.

"Good night, fair Donna," Harvey bowed from his chair and Mike probably would've laughed if it weren't for the circumstances.

"Bye, Donna. I don't think I have to tell you he won't be in tomorrow," Mike sighed. Donna just shook her head and headed for the door.

As soon as Donna had vanished, their waitress appeared.

"Can I get anything else for you gentlemen?" she asked warily, her eyes on Harvey though her question was directed at Mike.

"Yes, I will have anoth-"

"Just the check," Mike interrupted loudly. Harvey glared but stayed silent as the woman hurried away.

"Harvey, if you're really determined to keep drinking you can do it at your apartment where your antics are unlikely to put you on Page Six, all right?" Mike finally acquiesced as Harvey's glare didn't waver.

"_Fine._" Harvey shoved his credit card at the waitress, who was back again in a flash with a slip for Harvey to sign before ushering them out the door.

Harvey made it through the place pretty well, managing not to bump any furniture or patrons, but as soon as he hit the sidewalk it was a different story.

"Where's Ray?" he asked crabbily as he leaned against a street sign and dug through his jacket for his cell phone.

"You sent him home after he dropped us off, Harvey. Just wait a minute, I'll get us a cab. Try not to look like you're going to throw up," Mike suggested, stepping to the curb and holding out a hand.

"I'm _not_ going to throw up," Harvey was indignant, "What a waste of good scotch."

A taxi pulled up to the curb, and Mike carefully manhandled Harvey into a seat. Mike fell in besides, sighing Harvey's address at the cabbie.

"He all right?" The driver glanced at Harvey in the rearview. Harvey was starting fixedly out the window, breathing lowly through his mouth.

"He's fine. Go."

The car took off and Harvey lurched a little, slumping towards Mike. Automatically, Mike wrapped an arm over Harvey's shoulders and held him still.

"Ger'off," Harvey wriggled and gave up the pretense of composure, slurring, "Don'touch me."

"Yeah, all right. Don't fall over," Mike shot back, but removed his arm.

The ride was a short one and Mike didn't bother asking the cabbie to wait, no idea how long it would take him to get Harvey to bed.

"Where's your key, Harvey?"

They had made it through the lobby without incident, although Harvey had again refused Mike's supportive arm. Once in the elevator though, Mike remembered the key needed to access the penthouse without someone to buzz them in from upstairs.

"Iunno," Harvey shrugged and leaned against the elevator wall. Mike sighed and began a slow, surreptitious search of Harvey's pockets. His search yielded Harvey's wallet, cell phone, a scrap of paper with a phone number on it, and finally two silver keys on a ring.

He fit one into the slot and turned it, pressing the penthouse button. Mike couldn't help but breathe an unconscious sigh of relief when it lit up and the elevator began to rise.

"All right, c'mon." By the time the elevator reached the top floor, Harvey could no longer pretend he didn't need a hand. In fact he could barely peel himself off the wall. A strong, lean arm wormed it's way around his back, just below his ribs and held tight, tugging him what felt like far too many steps to reach his bedroom.

"Stay," Mike ordered as Harvey collapsed into a seat on the edge of a massive bed. Harvey grunted but fell over to one side as soon as Mike's footsteps faded down the hall.

"For pity's sake, Harvey." Mike was at his wits end, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other. He set both items down on the bedside table with a sigh and knelt at Harvey's feet. Mike removed his shoes, socks, jacket, tie and shirt before taking a deep breath. For a long moment Mike just stared at his boss, now stretched out along the edge of that ludicrous mattress. Another deep sigh, and Mike flicked open Harvey's belt buckle, sliding the smooth leather out of the loops on Harvey's pants and placed it to one side. He considered letting Harvey sleep in his trousers, but knew the fabric would become irreparably wrinkled and that Harvey would be furious.

"It's totally not weird that I'm stripping my boss right now. Not at all. Not even a little," Mike mumbled to himself, hoping it would make the situation less awkward as he popped open Harvey's fly and tugged at his waistband.

Mike was too busy pointedly not looking at Harvey's crotch to notice the hand Harvey raised from the bed until it slid up his upper arm to his shoulder to his neck.

"What're you-"

"Shut _up,_ for _once_," Harvey groaned, and hauled Mike up until their noses brushed.

"Harvey-"

And then Mike had nothing left to say, couldn't remember anything he'd wanted to say as Harvey's lips pushed against his. Mike couldn't help himself, he made a small noise in the back of his throat and pushed his fingers into the weave of Harvey's undershirt.

It have been only a vague thought, before. A stupid thing he did when he was drunk. Things he only noticed if he let himself. Like the way Harvey's jackets settled across his broad shoulders, or deft fingers plucked minute pieces of debris from Mike's clothes. The way that the corners of Harvey's eyes crinkled just slightly when he was genuinely pleased. How hard Mike worked some days just to see if he could make those lines appear.

The defensive wall he'd constructed on his cab ride to work the morning after "The Incident," as he'd taken to calling it in his head, crumbled so fast Mike wondered if they'd ever really been there.

Harvey's other hand came up to yank at his shirt until it was free of his waistband and then slipped his fingers underneath. Warm fingers dragged up Mike's side, tracing the indentations between his ribs and the subtle muscle definition of his stomach. Harvey's tongue traced along his lower lip and, against his better judgment, Mike allowed his lips to part.

Harvey tasted like a hundred years of scotch and solitude.

Mike yanked away.

His breathing was ragged as he looked down to realize he was effectively straddling his boss, palms curving around Harvey's chest. Mike felt Harvey's hands grasp for him, but he tumbled off the bed anyway.

"No, I'm sorry, you're wasted and I-" Mike's brain whirred and clicked, but no more words would come out.

"Mike-" Harvey croaked, leaned up, reached for him, and that was too much. Mike's brain found traction again.

"No!" He said again, louder, "You're drunk, and lonely, and you don't really want this, you just want _something_. Don't remember this in the morning, okay? And if you do, pretend you don't. If you ever bring it up, I'll have no idea what you're talking about."

Harvey's bedroom door, and then his apartment door, slammed behind Mike. He was on the street again and pounding down the sidewalk before he remembered running the seventy blocks between Harvey's apartment and his would run his shoes, not to mention his feet. Mike slowed and then stopped. He discovered he was gasping for air, though he'd only run three blocks.


	12. Chapter 12

I am NOT the father! Or the mother. Because these characters aren't mine.

_Author's Note: This is the second to last chapter. The story is all wrapped up, but I'm not quite ready to let it go, seeing as how I conceived the idea, started writing, and published almost the entire thing in three days. I think before I post the last bit I'm going to need to start banging out the little oneshot that started brewing in my head a half an hour ago. (I hope it stays a oneshot, holy crap, I do not have time to be distracted by a story again until Sunday.)_

* * *

Donna stilled slightly when she felt a pair of eyes on her. Very slowly, she set down her coffee and shrugged out of her coat, palming her cell phone as she did so. She spun quickly, and came face to face with an absolutely glowering Harvey through the translucent wall of his office. Donna huffed.

"You scared me silly, you buffoon!" she announced, sliding gracefully through his door.

"Not so loud," he grunted back at her, one hand rising to rub his forehead.

"Why aren't you at home?" she asked in response, her voice dropping barely.

"Couldn't sleep," Harvey mumbled, "Can I have your coffee?"

"What did you do?" Donna's eyes had narrowed as she perched on the arm of Harvey's couch.

"Nothing," Harvey groused, "Can I have your coffee _please?_"

"Harvey, Dionysus wouldn't have been able to stay awake through the amount of scotch you drank last night. The only way you could've managed is if you screwed up in a big way. What did you do?" Donna was not going to let up. Harvey sighed for what felt like the millionth time that morning.

"Mike," he began and Donna half-gasped, half shrilled as she stepped forward to slap Harvey's upper arm. Hard.

"Donna! What the he-"

"Please, Harvey. Please, please tell me that you did not _fuck _Mike Ross!" Donna hissed and Harvey twitched a little.

"No, I did not," he grumbled, and she relaxed a hair, "But I might've tried to."

"Harvey!" Donna was scandalized, but Harvey couldn't help but feel that maybe it wasn't for the reason he thought.

"What! I said I _might've_. I can't really remember. All I know is we were in my room, I looked down, and he was taking off my pants. So I kissed him," Harvey suddenly found himself staring at the glass top of his desk and realized it was because he couldn't look Donna in the eye.

"And then what?" Donna prompted, eliciting a small groan from the man sitting across from her.

"And then _nothing._ He freaked out and left."

"Oh, Harvey." He could feel her rolling her eyes.

"First of all, I am completely certain that he was just trying to get you to bed comfortably. Second of all, why would you do that to him? You _have_ to know by now how he feels about you. Third of all, you're not even divorced yet! Keep it in your pants!"

Harvey barely heard third of all. He was stuck on second of all.

"What do you mean, how he feels about me?" Harvey looked up to ask, reading the minutiae of her facial expressions.

"Don't play dumb with me, Harvey Specter. I know he kissed you that night you took him home," Donna retorted, taking a small satisfaction in the bemused look on his face.

"Did he tell-"

"Of _course not_. He didn't have to. It was written all over his face," Donna shrugged, and then waited for Harvey to work it out for himself.

"He was drunk, it was just a stupid-"

"A stupid kiss? He would never, under any circumstances, allow himself to do that sober. A stupid kiss that probably meant so much it was easier for him to pretend like it never happened? Jesus, Harvey he kissed his _married boss._ Of course he was going to act like it wasn't a big deal, _force you_ into believing it didn't mean anything." Harvey was taking far too long, and Donna felt obligated to lead him to the inevitable conclusion.

"Well... yeah."

"And then you got blind drunk and kissed him. How is he supposed to feel about that, Harvey?"

"I... I don't know."

"Like a goddamn idiot, Harvey. He feels like an idiot. Mike knows he kissed you weeks ago, and then all of a sudden your marriage fell apart, and you turned to him the minute you felt drunk enough to do it, because you knew he'd let you. Can you please, for just one second, think about how _cheap_ he feels right now? Why do I always have to explain these things to you?" Donna was huffy again, and Harvey was forced to hold up a hand to make her stop griping.

"I didn't mean to." The excuse was pathetic even to Harvey's own ears and he tried again.

"It wasn't my intention to..." he searched for the words, "To make him feel used. I saw him and I acted on impulse. He has to know I didn't mean anything by it, Mike's not stupid."

"Harvey, the fact that you didn't mean anything by it is why it hurts."

All of a sudden Donna was speaking from experience and Harvey looked up at her.

"Donna..."

"Oh, I know the feelings were mutual a long time ago, Harvey. But we missed our chance because your career was more important. I understood it then and I understand it now, but that doesn't mean I have to like it or that I'm going to let you risk the career of the best associate this firm has seen since _you_. You care about him, Harvey. It is disgustingly obvious, so stop lying to yourself. You can't afford to ignore your feelings anymore, so you better analyze them quick and figure out exactly what it is that you want from Mike Ross. And then, when your divorce is final, you're going to tell him the truth."

"And until then?" Harvey asked bleakly.

"Until then you're going to walk on eggshells and feel like an asshat every time he looks at you with those baby blues, but you are most certainly not going to bring it up to him until you have a conclusion." Donna got to her feet and strode towards the door, "And no, you cannot have my coffee."

She stopped halfway through the doorway and looked back, "For once in your life, Harvey, don't be selfish with your feelings."

* * *

Mike couldn't get out of bed. Every time he tried, the feeling of Harvey's hands on his skin held him place. And every time he replayed those warm fingers on his body, he replayed the achingly hollow taste of Harvey's mouth.

He didn't know how somebody could taste hollow, but that was the only word for it.

His phone had been going off for hours, and he wasn't exactly sure what time it was, but he knew he wasn't getting up.

Suddenly though, there were footsteps through his living room and Mike froze, panicked.

"Get your skinny ass up."

Mike had never seen Donna looking so furious before, not even when Louis had made the mistake of slapping her ass at the office Christmas party. Of course, Harvey had cold cocked him for that, so her fury had been placated.

"Donna," Mike groaned in protest. She dumped a cup of ice cold coffee over him, making him squeal.

"I said get up. I already had to nurse one baby through a hangover today, and I'm not doing it again," Donna growled, and involuntarily Mike's feet hit the floor. His head hung though, vision trained on his knees.

"Donna, I don't think I can go to work today," Mike mumbled to his knees, "Please. Just the day."

"No. If you don't go in and face it now, you never will. It won't be so bad," Donna's voice softened towards the end, "I promise."

"But-"

"No buts. Just remember what I told you, okay? Eventually, it goes away," she offered a watery smile as he tipped his head back to look at her.

"That might've worked for you, and it might've worked for me and Rachel, but this is-"

"It's not different, Mike, it's just requires more willpower. And technically, you're still on loan to Louis. He's irate," Donna smiled brightly, "That ought to take your mind off everything."

"...Great," Mike griped, but he stood and stumbled to his closet anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

Don't own, don't sue.

_Author's Note: The end, my friends. Enjoy._

* * *

Harvey sat at a table on the eleventh floor of Pearson-Hardman, starting at Angelique. He had specifically promised Waterman that he wouldn't speak, but she was treading on his last nerve.

His last few offers had been more than reasonable, but Angelique had rejected them all, despite the iron clad prenup she had signed. Not to mention the signed deposition he had from Tim, stipulating to the conversation he overheard in a Paris hotel room.

"Ms. Benoit," Waterman was wheedling, "You have to look at the facts. If you don't accept the terms you've been offered above and beyond the agreement stipulated in the prenuptial agreement, this will turn into a long and ugly courtroom battle. I'm sure you're well aware how those sort of things end when your former husband is involved."

"He's not my former husband yet," Angelique retorted, and Harvey had had enough.

"Our marriage was over the second I walked out of that hotel in Paris and you know it," he snarled, "And you can consider that the official withdrawal of my generous offer past what you agreed to when you married me. You'll take what the prenup allows you, no more and no less."

Harvey dug a fountain pen out of his inner breast pocket and tossed it at her, "Sign the goddamn paperwork."

"Harvey, darling-"

"I have never once, and will not ever be your darling, Angelique," Harvey cut her off icily.

"At least don't look at me like that," she tried, large green eyes pleading.

"I'll look at you however I like. You have ten seconds to pick up that pen, or we'll go to a judge. And you will _not_ like how that turns out," Harvey was blatantly threatening her, and he didn't care. His fingers itched to wrap around her wrist and quite literally force her hand.

"Ten."

"Nine."

"Eight."

Harvey was astounded that he was actually having to count at her like a petulant child.

"Seven."

"All right!" Angelique practically shouted, grasping Harvey's been and viciously jotting her name at the bottom of the first page. Her lawyer leaned forward.

"Sign here," he flipped a page, "Initial here. Initial again." Another page, "Sign here. Date." One last page, "And here."

Waterman glanced over at Harvey as he shuffled paperwork.

"Congratulations, Mr. Specter. You're officially divorced."

"Not a minute too soon," Harvey flicked his pen out of Angelique's grasp as he stood. When he said no more, no less, he'd meant it down to the last molecule of air he might have to share with her.

He pulled his phone from his pocket as he strode out of the room.

* * *

Mike's phone buzzed, and his head snapped up from where it had been resting on his hand.

_Hot dogs. Now._

Mike gulped. He had taken to treating Harvey something like Louis. He followed orders, completed his assigned work to perfection, stayed excruciatingly late hours when Harvey asked him to. He didn't, however, speak unless spoken to and rarely, if ever, met Harvey's eyes.

Harvey's text wasn't exactly a request, though, and he got to his feet. He moved to the elevator and down to the lobby like moving through a dream, and none of it seemed real until his eyes found Harvey, lounging against the hot dog cart. Harvey's eyes caught his and Mike had never felt a stronger "flight" response. His feet just kept trudging forward, though, and Harvey handed him a hot dog.

"Walk with me," Harvey beckoned, starting off down the sidewalk. They paced almost five blocks in complete silence as Mike nibbled at his hot dog, afraid he was going to throw up.

"You gonna finish that?" Harvey asked, and Mike handed it to him without a word.

"Thanks," Harvey had finished it in two bites, "Divorce proceedings did always make me hungry."

Mike still couldn't find anything to say.

"Oh, come on Rook, it's churlish to not at least say you're welcome," Harvey nudged Mike with his elbow, trying to quell the light panic that rose within him at Mike's prolonged silence. It wasn't normal.

"You're welcome," Mike choked out, and Harvey had had enough bullshit for the second time that day.

He half turned, grasped the inside of Mike's elbow and pushed his associate up against a pillar outside an anonymous building. It was nearly 3 o'clock on the edges of the financial district and the place was deserted.

"Talk to me," Harvey demanded, watching Mike's Adam's apple bob.

"About what?" Mike wondered breathlessly.

"What do you want, Mike?" Harvey asked, every inch of him causal, controlled. Even as he slid his hand inside Mike's jacket to feel the heat of his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

Mike was sure he was going to throw up.

"I don't know what you mean," he managed, trying to wiggle away. Harvey's other arm came up and blocked his escape.

"You know exactly what I mean. All you have to do is admit it," Harvey's voice ghosted across Mike's ear as one strong hand skimmed up his stomach, over his chest, and came to rest along his jaw. Mike had no choice but to look up, meet those deep brown eyes he never learned how to lie to.

"I want," Mike scrambled, floundering for how to say it without sounding like a complete dunce, "I want this, Harvey."

Mike found his fingers popping the buttons of Harvey's jacket, his waistcoat, his shirt, until they jerked at his undershirt to find hot, olive toned skin that shuddered under his searching hands.

Harvey's mouth met his and it didn't taste hollow. No, Harvey tasted like mustard, coffee, cinnamon, and something warm, delicate, and unmistakably Harvey that Mike couldn't identify. He knew he'd do the research to find out though, pulling away just enough to scrape Harvey's bottom lip with his teeth. Harvey hissed, and Mike pulled the offended lip into his mouth, sucking gently.

Harvey still had one hand on Mike's jaw, thumb tracing lazy circles along his cheekbone. Mike's slim fingers crawled underneath his shirt, caressing all the skin they could reach. Harvey contented himself with squeezing Mike's hip tightly with his free hand before finally tugging his mouth away.

Mike made a muffled noise of protest, pulling Harvey tight up against him and nuzzling into Harvey's neck.

"Mike," Harvey breathed, and found himself staring into Mike's impossibly wide, nervous blue eyes. Harvey couldn't help himself, he laughed softly and pressed his lips to Mike's forehead.

"I didn't tell you about my wife because I didn't want you to know I had a wife. And I didn't want to tell myself why I wanted you to think I was single. It wasn't... chivalrous of me, the night I kissed you. I just-"

"Wasn't chivalrous, Harvey don't-"

"Sssh." Harvey squeezed Mike's hip again to silence him, "Just let me talk, for once. I didn't even know I wanted you until you kissed me and I told you I didn't. And then I didn't know how to recover from that except to make an ass of myself. After the way you reacted, I couldn't... I knew I couldn't fix it until I was divorced because this is how I wanted to fix it. I'm sorry, Mike. I am."

Harvey's face was so earnest that Mike had to giggle. Harvey looked offended, so Mike brushed a kiss over his brow.

"That's all very sweet, Harvey, but I know at least the last bit was all Donna. Don't give yourself that much credit."

Harvey grinned wolfishly, "There's my smartass."

"_Your_ smartass?" Mike quirked an eyebrow and Harvey thought he shouldn't find his own facial expressions on Mike's features so goddamn sexy, "I wasn't even sure you liked guys until like two minutes ago."

"I don't, usually. I mean, I did just divorce a woman about a half an hour ago. But I like you, and you are my smartass," Harvey murmured, his teeth scraping against the lobe of Mike's ear as his hand slipped down from that slim, sharp hip to curl possessively around Mike's ass.

Mike gasped in his ear, and Harvey was satisfied. He stepped back, detangling himself from Mike's arms even as he grumbled in dissent.

"Harveeey," Mike started to whine. Harvey silenced him with a look.

"It's just 3, Mike. We have work to do." Harvey rebuttoned and tucked his clothes before he turned and started meandering back towards the office.

Mike rolled his eyes and tagged along after, satisfying himself with the view of Harvey from behind for the five block walk back to Pearson-Hardman.


End file.
